


justice

by rhythmicroman



Series: Batjokes Minifics [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Batjokes, Blood, Knives, M/M, Murder, One Shot, Past Joker/Harleen Quinzel, Post-What Ails You (s2 e4), Probably Canon Divergent, Short, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Spoilers, Vigilante!John, Vigilantism, he's also referred to as 'john' the whole time, it's never mentioned but it did happen, joker is more of an anti-hero than a villain here, so sorry to any none-telltale readers lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:20:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmicroman/pseuds/rhythmicroman
Summary: He’s nearly unrecognisable, between the harlequin makeup and the sharp look in his smart green eyes (one still ringed with purple under the white paint), and the name ‘John’ doesn’t seem to fit him. It’s too plain, too usual – John Doe is a name for unknown men, and yet the only thing he has to describe this beautifully recognisable man.





	justice

**Author's Note:**

> so i'm in complete love with the vigilante!john ending in s2e4, so here's a little quickfic for you all xx

“This isn’t justice, John.”

John laughs, runs his milky white fingers through his hair – it’s styled oddly, sticking up at the sides, and Bruce almost isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not. His jacket sways a little in the breeze as he turns to face him.

He’s nearly unrecognisable, between the harlequin makeup and the sharp look in his smart green eyes (one still ringed with purple under the white paint), and the name ‘John’ doesn’t seem to fit him. It’s too plain, too usual – John Doe is a name for unknown men, and yet the only thing he has to describe this beautifully recognisable man.

“It’s better than what they were doing,” he laughs, fiddling with his hands as if he were nervous, “I’m not killing anybody, Brucie.”

He shifts uncomfortably, and thinks of that dreaded sight – of John shaking amidst a ring of corpses, blood splattered all over him, wet eyes and crimson palms. Of the sobs that thundered through the building like the lightning’s laugh, of the feeling of John’s wet cheeks against his chest as they clung to each other.

“But you did,” he says finally, his voice soft with hesitation, “so who’s to say you won’t do it again?”

John looks offended for a split second, but only laughs, and turns away. He’s still fiddling with the knife in his hand, his thumb split in two where he pressed too hard on the blade. Nothing is said, and nothing needs to be.

John leans back against Bruce’s armoured chest, pressing the knife in his fingertips until he bleeds, until his hands are smeared in crimson again – and then he turns, and clings to him, and doesn’t let go.

Bruce’s face softens as he returns the embrace.

Nothing has been solved, nothing has been finished, their stitch is still too loose; but the sun rising on Gotham’s horizon has never felt so peaceful.

The colour floods over them like water. John only breathes.


End file.
